


The Fallen Queen

by Goldenheartedrose



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-24
Updated: 2012-04-24
Packaged: 2017-11-04 06:23:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/390761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goldenheartedrose/pseuds/Goldenheartedrose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Susan Pevensie is 21 years old, and studying to become a teacher in Boston when she receives distressing news.  How will she cope?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Fallen Queen

It was a cool late autumn afternoon in Boston.  Susan Pevensie had been left alone by her housemates, who were off shopping for suitable outfits to wear to a very formal Thanksgiving dinner.  Susan, however much she may pretend, did not particularly care for the tedium of shopping.  Oh, she enjoyed many of the extravagances that many would call dull, but unfortunately, shopping for a dress was not one of them.  Lucky enough for Susan, she had plenty of suitable clothing to wear, provided by her mother mostly. 

To an outside observer, Susan Pevensie lived a quite charmed life.  She was alone here in Boston, with three housemates, but they were here to receive the best education.  She was taking regular courses to become a schoolteacher, but she also had enrolled in etiquette classes.  She knew what to say and when to say it.  She knew how to act like a proper lady, even if Americans didn’t do things quite like the British.  Her parents had believed it important to learn the social niceties of several different cultures, and that’s why she was here.

And she resented it.  She knew that somehow, she had brought it on herself, by being quite conventionally attractive.  But she hated this. 

Most of all, though, Susan Pevensie was homesick.  She missed her brothers and sisters, her mother, and her father.  She even missed her cousin Eustace, and that nice girl who sometimes came around – Jill Pole.  The problem was, that save for the adults, all of the aforementioned people had been to a place that she had also traveled to – a place no one else would believe exists.  Perhaps that’s not entirely true.  The Professor would believe her, because he had also been to Narnia as a boy.  Narnia.  Even the name was fantastic. 

_Just silly childish tales_ , Susan thought now.  What good was it to think about the past? She had been just twelve years old when she and her siblings had been shuttled off to Professor Kirke’s home in the country, a safe haven from the war raging.  What she and her siblings had found there had been much more than safety. She had discovered an entirely new world, with constant snow, fauns, epic battles of good vs. evil.  Even she couldn’t believe it for a long while.  And she had been crowned queen in that land – Queen Susan the Gentle. 

Unfortunately, that was years ago.  Oh, yes, she had returned once more, only to be told, along with Peter, her older brother, that she was never to return again to Narnia.  She recalled shedding some tears that day, upon her realization that her childhood was indeed coming to an end.  It had been unexpected and quite sudden.  Once she was back in England, though, everything seemed to make sense.

She was certainly not a child any longer.  Here she was, at 21 years of age.  She would be finishing her education as a schoolteacher, and would soon return home to England.  Her parents had hoped that perhaps she would meet an affluent young man here, someone to take care of her, to appreciate her beauty and gentleness in order for her to avoid working in the first place.  Unfortunately, Susan had disappointed them on this matter. 

It wasn’t that there weren’t ample opportunities for this.  It wasn’t that she couldn’t attract a wealthy and even handsome gentleman.  It was simply that she wasn’t that interested.  Every time she was at one of these social events, she would chat and dance with a reasonable number of gentlemen.  She found each and every one of them endlessly exasperating and boring.

So on this autumn day, it was a relief to have some time to sit and think.  Perhaps she would write a letter to Lucy.  Perhaps she would read a book.  But for now, she would perch herself on this chair in the sitting room and drink her tea. 

She had been doing this – staring at the leaves falling, sipping her tea, thinking about beginning a letter to Lucy, who was always interested in the most mundane parts of her life, when a smartly dressed gentleman  had knocked on the door.

Susan flung open the door, looked at the man and bit her lip.  He was taller than her, at about 5’10 tall.  His hair was dark, his eyebrows knitted together, and a very grim expression graced his face. 

“Good afternoon, sir,” she began.  She tried for as American of an accent as she could manage, but it still came out oddly. 

“G-good afternoon, ma’am.  My name is Officer Peterson,” he flashed her his police badge I’m looking for …” he pulled a slip of yellow paper from his jacket pocket.  “Sorry.  Looking for a Miss Susan Pevensie.”

“I am Miss Susan Pevensie. Would you like to come in?”

“Thank you, Miss Pevensie. “

Susan ushered Officer Peterson into the sitting room.  His expression began to make her nervous.  Susan perched herself back onto the padded chair she had been sitting in.  Officer Peterson took the chair across from her. 

“I’m afraid I have some very bad news, Miss Pevensie.”

Susan gulped, and attempted to look as unstartled as possible.  “Go on, sir.”

“I’ve just been informed that I had to come over here and tell you that there’s been an accident.”

Susan grimaced.  “Sorry.  What sort of accident?”

“A railway accident.”

Susan’s ears perked up.  She recalled her parents talking about a taking a trip to the country with her other siblings.  “A – a railway accident.”

“Yes.  Some sort of mechanical failure, as I understand it.  The train managed to get off track.  I’m sorry to say that there were no survivors.”

All of a sudden, the room seemed as though it were spinning, and Susan couldn’t quite get enough air.

“Miss Pevensie? Miss Pevensie?” the officer’s words came out entirely too shrilly, which was possibly the reason that Susan quickly came back to reality, taking deep, slow breaths.

“I’m sorry.  I just --- no survivors? None?”

“No, ma’am.  I’m sorry.”

Susan nodded stoically.  “I understand.  Thank you, officer.”

“Ma’am? Do you have someone who could sit with you?”

“No, sir, I don’t believe I do.  My housemates will return soon, however.”

“Is there someone you’d like me to call?”

Susan smiled sadly.  “Officer, you’ve just told me that my entire family is dead.  I’m afraid there’s no one really left to call.”

The officer blanched at that, nodding somberly.  “I’m sorry, ma’am. Is there anything I can do?”

Susan answered quietly in barely more than a whisper, “No thank you.”

“I’ll just be – I’ll just be off then.”  The officer stood to leave, a little tentative.

“Yes.  I think that would be best.  Please don’t worry about me.  I’ll be all right. My housemates will be back quite soon, I believe.”

“Goodbye, miss.”

Once the door closed behind him, Susan sunk to the floor.  Uncaring about modesty or propriety, she drew her knees to her chest, closed her eyes and rocked back and forth as waves of grief flowed over her.  The sobs that wracked her body barely sounded human. 

Three days later, Susan’s mother’s best friend, a woman she affectionately called Aunt Helen, accompanied the 21 year old back to London. 

What exactly does a 21 year old know about making choices suitable for a memorial service? Aunt Helen, helped, of course, as much as she could.  But Aunt Helen wasn’t biologically related, and therefore could only make suggestions and recommendations from her extra 20 years on the earth.  Susan took each and every one of these to heart, but at the end of it, it was her choices that mattered.

What would she do with the family home? Keep it?

The funeral directors were asking her questions about clothing choices for her siblings, for her parents.  All she could think of were things like “Lucy loved that dress” and “Peter always did look exceptionally smart in that suit.”

These were not the decisions that a 21 year old should have to make.  A 21 year old should be making choices like “which shoes should I wear with this dress” and “will that gentleman ask for my hand?”  Oh, how much Susan wished that the last few days had all been a dream.

But it was not.  It was a nightmare – one she feared she would never end.

***

It had been six months since the memorial service.  Susan had managed to remain stoic throughout the entire ordeal.  No sense in allowing mostly strangers an intimate look into her emotions.  It was obvious that she was devastated, but she couldn’t – wouldn’t allow them to see her cry.

Aunt Helen had remained with Susan for several weeks, helping her go through her family’s many belongings.  In the end, Susan had decided to sell the family home.  It hadn’t been an easy decision, and several times, Aunt Helen questioned her motives and whether she was in the right emotional state to be able to go through with it.  In the end, it made the most sense.  Most of the contents had been sold, but Susan retained several boxes of items that had obvious sentimental value to her.

Now, six months later, Susan was comfortably settled into her new flat in central London.  It was expensive, and most schoolteachers of her caliber were barely scraping by, but her parents had left a substantial amount of money.  Susan felt guilt when she realized that the money had been meant to be split four ways, but as the only survivor – well, she was glad that she didn’t have to worry about finding a flatmate or worrying about having to live in a less safe neighborhood because of a lack of money.

This morning, for some reason, Susan had felt compelled to unpack one of the boxes she had brought from her parents’ home in London.  All of them had been hastily packed, as she hadn’t wanted to really linger on their contents, at least not when the grief was so overwhelming and fresh. But now, she allowed herself to feel.

As she unpacked the box, she expected to feel overwhelming sadness and the urge to stop, but instead, she simply focused on the good things – how happy she and her siblings had been.  She recalled that summer in the British countryside, at Professor Kirke's home.  _Now what made me think of that?_ Susan wondered.  She pushed aside her mother’s old-but-not-worn dress and reached into the box and retrieved what looked like a child’s drawing. 

It was indeed a child’s drawing.  More specifically, it was Lucy’s drawing.  Susan sighed and a small smile made her lips twitch up just a bit.  The drawing was made with chalk – that much was clear.  It was of a brown haired girl, no more than ten years old, severely underdressed. Her skirt was brown, of a medium length, with a yellow blouse. She wore no coat, despite the snow on the ground.  The girl was standing right outside a lamppost.  There appeared to be a faun holding an umbrella nearby, as he were offering the girl cover.  Susan knew exactly what this was.  The girl in the drawing, of course, was Lucy, with her faun Mr. Tumnus. 

Susan wasn’t entirely certain when Lucy had drawn this picture, though she knew there had been many very much like it.  This one in particular, however, exemplified the skill that Lucy was trying to hone.  Over the years, her drawings had improved quite significantly.  If Susan had to guess, Lucy had been about 14 years old when she drew this particular picture.  The details were sharper, the shadows more subtle.  The light had shone, not as one beam of light, as had been present in her earlier drawings, but with subtle flecks of yellow, gold, and even orange as it shone bright through the snow.

Susan had long given up on Narnia being real.  The memory of Lucy’s pained expression when she said this aloud burned bright in her vision, and she felt immense guilt.  Of all the careless words she had spoken, that was by far one of the worst things she could have ever said.  Unfortunately, it was never fully unexpected.  Susan had always been the skeptic, unable or unwilling to give in to Lucy’s fantasies.  But when Edmund and even Peter went along with Lucy – well, there wasn’t a whole lot she could do, was there?

But all of that wasn’t _really_ possible, was it? Susan shook her head.  She was an adult.  She should know better than to indulge in the fanciful imaginations of childhood.  But yet – she wondered.  Lucy had been so insistent, even as she got older.  Susan recalled the final summer before she left for Boston – last summer, actually, just six months before they all had died.  Lucy had been about to turn 17 and she still talked fondly about Narnia and about how she knew one day, one day they would return.

Susan didn’t put much stock in thoughts like that, but she did think about the afterlife.  Was that where her family was now? Did they all see whatever reality they were in now differently, or was it all essentially the same? Susan knew one thing – if it were up to imaginations, Lucy’s version of heaven would definitely be Narnia.  And Aslan would be there.

Susan hadn’t been able to come up with an adequate explanation for not one, but two trips to Narnia during her childhood.  She tried, oh yes, but somehow, even she couldn’t truly believe that it had all been entirely a lie, just a childhood game. She especially remembered Aslan’s words to her, and to Peter, when they were told that they were too old to return to Narnia.  She recalled being sad at the time, but later, she wondered if it had happened at all.  Perhaps it was all a dream – a very realistic dream – meant to teach her some lesson.  She had learned several lessons while in Narnia – about patience, faith, and love.  But that didn’t prove Narnia was real.

Now, as Susan bent over the box – of all she had left of her family, she knew there was more to it than silly childhood games.  She let out a mirthless laugh – this was ridiculous.  She was an adult woman, and here she was indulging in childhood fantasies. 

“So silly, Susan.  Get a grip on yourself,” she said out loud. 

Susan reached back into the box and gasped as her hand clasped around something hard.  It was small, and hung round a chain.  It was clearly meant to be worn about the neck, by someone who was much smaller than herself.  _No way,_ she thought.  _This is not possible._   As she opened the tiny vial and smelled, she was taken back to a scene that seemed like a lifetime ago.  It smelled of wildflowers and… something she couldn’t place, but knew was distinctly Narnia.  The vial that she held in her hands had also belonged to Lucy.  It was her healing vial.  It was the healing salve responsible for saving Edmund’s life after the White Witch had tried her best to kill him. 

But how had this ended up back in this box? Notwithstanding the fact that she had no idea how it got back to England in the first place, she certainly hadn’t recalled packing it.  And she was certain that something like this – she would have remembered, despite her grief.

Her heart pounded, and she gasped at the realization that there were supernatural forces at work – somehow.  _Narnia_ was real.  Narnia was _real_.  They had really all been, and, if all was as she suspected, the rest of them were back there, were reveling in its beauty.  Somehow, this made her feel even more alone than she did before.  Perhaps, if she had caught up with the rest of her siblings a little quicker (she _was_ always the last one to catch on, wasn’t she?), she would have been on the train with them.  And yes, that meant that right now, she would be dead.  But what would happen after? She was certain she would be in Narnia right now.

Susan sighed.  She couldn’t change the past.  But she could change the future.

A week later, Susan Pevensie quit her job as a schoolteacher. 

One year later, she published a children’s fantasy novel, about some of their adventures in Narnia, specifically as the four of them reigned as kings and queens in Narnia.  Her publisher thought it was fantastic, and couldn’t believe what an inventive imagination she possessed.  Susan often found herself smirking to herself when she recalled these conversations.  She couldn’t really tell the truth, of course, but at least she could share the story of Narnia with a new generation.

Two years later, Susan wrote a second book, about their adventures with Prince Caspian.  This book was even more well-received than her first.  She had promised to read a passage from this book to a group of primary school students, and was on her way there when…

Susan blinked.  She vaguely recalled driving, intending to talk to a group of children about Narnia, but no. She was no longer in England.  She was… here.  In Narnia.  And it was more beautiful than she had remembered.

It was then that she heard the deep, resonant voice.  “Once a king or queen in Narnia, always a king or queen in Narnia.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I was, of course, inspired in part by Regina Spektor's "The Call", which was an integral part of the Prince Caspian movie.
> 
> The specific lyrics that I chose to focus on for this story were these:
> 
> Let your memories grow stronger and stronger  
> Until they’re before your eyes  
> You’ll come back  
> When they call you  
> No need to say to goodbye.


End file.
